


Muse

by neykat



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Artist AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neykat/pseuds/neykat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(au) where Leo is an art student in university (who might be a genius) looking for inspiration for his final fourth year project portfolio and he stumbles into some second year named Neymar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “Still having trouble finding inspiration huh?” Dani sounds sympathetic at least.  
> “It’s -- I don’t know. I’ve never had this problem before.”  
> “It happens to the best of us man. I think Xavi might be onto something though. You know everything you create is fucking genius. But you might be overthinking it now. Look for something that just -- gets your emotions going. Where you’re more focused on the process than the product.”  
> Leo wonders where this wisdom bullshit comes from in Dani, because he’s an awful dresser and has no singing abilities -- but is fantastic at saying the right thing at the right time. “Thanks man.”

Leo doesn’t remember a time when his world wasn’t all about colors, shades, and light. His father likes to joke that he was born with a paintbrush in his hand. He’s not so sure about that, but his first memory is of playing with crayons and coloring the walls, so it can’t be that far off.

There’s something extremely satisfying though, of being able to take a fragment of an image that exists only in his mind, and capture it and make it something genuine. There’s a joke at the university, that all art majors are required to have some sort of tortured soul so that they can depict their existential anguish, but Leo doesn’t really see art as some sort of entity to convey anguish. He sees it as an opportunity to unveil the spectrum of emotions -- whether it be happiness, love, anger, or sadness. It’s not a means to an end because art is the end itself.

When he applies for university, it makes sense to register as an art major and not say -- a classics major or math major, since he hasn’t exactly excelled at either of those two classes in his life. He sends in a portfolio to a few art schools as well as a few public schools. One comes almost instantaneously. The admissions director actually calls him to eat lunch with him and his father and offers full scholarship for all four years so long as Leo agrees to go to their school. They agree, and the contract is signed on a paper napkin. (Leo finds this a little bemusing, but he does incorporate restaurant tablecloth and napkin patterns as the background of his next piece as a little tribute.)

The only unfortunate part is that the university is in Barcelona, Spain -- a long way away from Rosario, Argentina. He leaves all that he’s ever known behind -- his family, his friends -- and starts again. It’s intimidating at first. The admissions director greets him when he lands, jabbering on about how he’ll love it and whatnot. At first, Leo isn’t really sure about this, because he’s always been shy and reserved, so he hardly attracts people to him with his personality. It becomes immediately clear to him that this art school is as serious as it gets when he walks into his suite and his two roommates have already started drawing on the walls. (He learns later that this is apparently some sort of tradition at the school. You get to do whatever you want to the walls of your dorm so long as you plaster and paint over it at the end of your time at the school.)

Still, his two roommates, Cesc and Gerard, are as loud and outgoing as he is reserved, and after a very memorable incident in which Gerard runs out of the dorm with all of Leo’s clothes, he opens up to them and they bring him into the fold. After a few week of classes, Leo gets the vague impression that the staff has the idea that he’s some kind of fucking genius, and isn’t really sure what to do about that. It doesn’t help that Cesc and Gerard promulgate that idea.

The one positive is that he’s somehow permitted to take upper level classes. It means he occasionally gets to take classes with the visiting masters like Ronaldinho and Deco, who rush into the school at the end of Leo’s first year and are unceremoniously kicked out by the new dean, Pep. Leo’s sad to see them go, because those two took him under their wings, and taught him tricks with ink and watercolor that he’s never seen before. They’re also partiers who do most of their art drunk or high by the end of their time at the school, and Pep apparently doesn’t like that.

Pep is said to be a fucking mad-man, an artist whose work still hangs at this school and defines the style of the “golden generation” of artists. Leo takes a class in oil painting taught by him the first semester of his third year, and Pep pushes him further than anyone ever has. His attention to detail is remarkable, and for him -- everything can be better. The class starts with 25 people, and by the end -- only eleven are left. Leo’s never as frustrated as he is in that first month, when Pep sees his work and says -- “try harder” again and again. He doesn’t consider dropping the class (because he knows he’s close), but he’s this close to tearing his hair out when he’s gone through his fifth canvas, when finally -- Pep sees his final painting (painted at 3 am in an hour and a half) and loves it.

“It’s as though you start thinking the painting is going to lead you to one destination, when in fact it’s a false impression,” Pep smiles at him, ruffling Leo’s hair a little bit. And that’s the thing about Pep. He’s a lovable person when the understanding is reached, Leo thinks. He expects more from you because he knows you can do better. And if you let him push you, something amazing will happen. Leo knows that the fifth painting is the best one. He’s never created a painting that has satisfied him at every level. Until now. After that, it’s like Pep’s opened a faucet of inspiration in Leo, and piece after piece comes out.

People have started to take notice outside of the school, much to Leo’s confusion. He knows that a students in their final year will market their final portfolios to museums and art critics. Joint artists, Xavi and Iniesta, are the gems of the show. They stay on as Pep’s TAs after their final year. But rarely if ever do people pursue the third year students. Still, he allows a few private collectors to view his pieces, and Pep tells them that they can buy it after Leo’s final year. Buzz builds, and soon Leo’s third year collection becomes a hot commodity. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he’s glad people for the reception.

The only thing is -- everyone’s expecting something huge for his final year. In the beginning of his final year of university, Leo is supposed to declare what the focus of his final year will be. Typically, all seniors create their final fourth year portfolio with an extremely narrow focus. One boy last year just created necklaces out of blue glass the whole time, and then went off to Tiffany & Co. to work. Another girl only crafted genitalia out of clay.

Leo’s fairly certain he’s going to be sticking to the classic mediums, and he’s filled an entire sketchbooks with ideas for the final project during his four years -- but he’s not really sure what he’s going to do at all. None of the ideas seem quite right, and it’s bizarre -- because in the past, ideas have always come easily. He’s considered doing an Argentine-Catalan fusion of culture, but that’s not particularly appealing to him. He’s sitting in his dorm feeling slightly hungry, considering the pros and cons of doing a series on food.

It also doesn’t help that his roommates already know what they’re doing, and are rarely in the dorm these days as they begin their final year portfolios. Cesc is doing disproportionate architecture influenced by the human body. Gerard is doing a series on visualized music, which Leo thinks probably has to do with the music and dance professor, Shakira, who Gerard started sleeping with in sophomore year and is now dating.

And so, Leo has the dorm all to himself as he thinks about how he’s never going to get a good idea for this portfolio. It doesn’t help that Pep is off on a year long “mental-clearing retreat” to Germany or something. Tito, Pep’s second-in-command, was off to take a break as well, so Tata Martino had taken over for the summer, but a new dean was named at the beginning of the year -- Luis Enrique. Leo doesn’t know much about him. It’s not like he can just approach Luis Enrique and expect to get good advice -- he barely knows Luis Enrique.

All he knows (through two Google searches) is that Luis Enrique originally trained in Madrid, the other major art school in Spain before moving to Barcelona in his final year. Leo doesn’t know much about the Madrid school, but he does know that Pep had particularly hated the Madrid dean, named Mourinho -- who showcased his fourth year artist Cristiano Ronaldo like it was going out of fashion.

So that leaves Xavi and Iniesta, Pep’s TAs who have taken over a bunch of Pep’s classes -- since Luis Enrique prefers teaching a more modern take on ink and pencil as opposed to Pep’s classic oils. Leo’s talked to Xavi about how he seems to be having a mental block when it comes to inspiration for his final portfolio, since Xavi is the closest thing he has to Pep.

Xavi’s advice however, is so seemingly basic, that Leo isn’t exactly encouraged. “Just go back to the basics. You’re thinking at too complex a level. You need to bring it down to the basic steps of art. Try taking a lower-level class -- that’s where you might find some inspiration.”

Leo almost rolls his eyes at that, but manages to stop himself at the last moment. It sounds so profoundly stupid to him, but it’s not like he’s getting any better ideas. So that’s how he ends up sitting in the Human Figures class that’s usually reserved for first years. Dani Alves, the TA who teaches this class, looks surprised when he first shows up three weeks into the semester (after all, what fourth year student would be willingly taking a first year class?) but when Leo explains he’s just looking for inspiration, he lets him sit in.

The human body has always come pretty easily to Leo, it’s one of the first types of art he mastered. It’s never seemed that difficult to him -- just copy the lines, the muscles, the bones, the flutter of the eyelashes -- and you’re golden. It’s also, as a result, never been all that interesting to him. Leo’s always been big on giant sweeping landscapes, cityscapes, and occasionally animals. The mechanics of recreating a human body on a medium when enough of them already exist in real life, has seemed pointless. He thinks maybe that’s where he’s been missing something maybe, and that’s why he ends up sitting in this stupid 4 PM class where first years fret about calf muscles and cheekbones.

Leo clutches the ink pen tightly in his hand. It feels like lead in his hand when he tries to draw lately, where it used to feel light and free. He’s not sure when things changed. But it’s not fun to do art with a mental block. (He regrets laughing at Pique now when he had that mental block in the middle of sophomore year). He can feel the curious eyes of first years on him. They don’t understand why he’s in this class either. Leo’s self-aware enough to know that his name is commonly spoken at this school, and so at least some of the first years must know that he doesn’t fit in here, in spite of his small stature.

When class ends, Leo looks down at his notebook. He’s sketched over fifty different types of hands during the class, but he feels no closer to finding inspiration. He covers his face with his hands, trying to focus on something other than this frustration that seems to only be growing in him. Dani comes up to him as the first years all pack up their bags and leave.

“You okay Leo?” he feels a hand resting on his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

“Still having trouble finding inspiration huh?” Dani sounds sympathetic at least.

“It’s -- I don’t know. I’ve never had this problem before.”

“It happens to the best of us man. I think Xavi might be onto something though. You know everything you create is fucking genius. But you might be overthinking it now. Look for something that just -- gets your emotions going. Where you’re more focused on the process than the product.”

Leo wonders where this wisdom bullshit comes from in Dani, because he’s an awful dresser and has no singing abilities -- but is fantastic at saying the right thing at the right time. “Thanks man.”

“I’ve known you since you were a first year,” Dani winks. “I know whatever you come up with will be good.”

And that’s the problem, Leo thinks, as he walks back to his dorm. Everyone expects something amazing from Leo. And while pressure has never been an issue when he knew what he wanted to do -- now that he doesn’t have any inspiration - he feels a little bit like a boat adrift without sails. Things that should be easy, like a routine sketch, feel like they take ages and Leo can literally feel himself working hard to create what used to come as easily as breathing.

Things proceed like this for nearly two more weeks, at which point Leo is reaching the official deadline for his senior portfolio registration date -- he literally has to submit an idea by the end of the week or he won’t be registered for the final gallery exhibition. And he still has no idea what the fuck he wants to do.

“Just bullshit something man,” Gerard tells him. “You know they let a bunch of people change their topic every year --”

“That was with Pep though,” Cesc points out. He’s less into Gerard’s idea than Leo is. “Lucho said he’s not letting people change their topics.”

Gerard covers Cesc’s mouth with his hand. “Okay, that kind of negativity is unnecessary from you Cesc.”

Leo doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at the wall behind them, wondering if maybe -- if he stares hard enough, someone will just drop inspiration into his head.

“You better get started though Leo,” Gerard says after a moment. “I know you’re a fucking genius, but you do have to have some sort of proof or sketch for when you submit your idea. The deadline’s in like four hours.”

He nearly trashes the notebook that he’s filled with ideas in the last four years (he really wants to), but at the last minute - he sees that the last page is still empty. Maybe it’s the universe’s idea of a sick joke. That he would run out of inspiration at the final moment.

He doesn’t particularly want to go to Dani’s class, but it’s not like inspiration is about to hit him in the face while he’s sitting in the dorm. He’s been trying for nearly two months now, and it hasn’t worked. So he drags his feet down to the first floor studio, making it only a minute before class starts.

There’s immediately a nervous energy in the room that he feels, and he looks to the center of the classroom, where Dani usually is standing. The first years all look like they’re about to faint from nerves. Leo looks around, confused, for a moment, trying to understand what the fuck is going on. He moves towards his seat in the back of the classroom, and slouches into his chair, pulling out his old ripped notebook that only has a page left in it. Might as well finish it.

“Who do you think he’s going to bring?” he hears someone whisper near him.

He looks up confused, wondering if this question is directed at him. It’s not, it’s to the boy in front of him, Sergi something.

“Dunno,” Sergi something says back.

Leo’s mind makes the connection when he suddenly recalls Dani saying something a few days ago about bringing in their first model. The class has really only been focusing on specific body parts until now. Dani considers this the mid-point of the semester.

The door to the classroom suddenly opens, and Dani walks in confidently, wearing this awful combination of a red leather suit, white sneakers, and black framed glasses. He’s trailed by a boy a little taller and lankier than him, who has his hands in his hoodie’s front pocket. He’s partially blocked from view as they walk in by Dani, but when they reach the center of the room -- Leo has a good look at him.

He’s beautiful in an imperfect way. He’s quite thin yet gives off this vibe of being athletic, and his skin is deeply tanned. There’s hints of tattoos peaking out from his neck, and he has his hair shaved on the sides and bangs fall forward. His eyes are catlike, flickering around the room rapidly without blinking, and his lips are pouty and a deep pink. Leo briefly wonders what it’d be like to suck on them, watch them bruise and swell, before shaking himself out of it. He looks around the room, and he sees that everyone is looking attentively at the model, sizing him up.

“Okay class, this is your model of the day,” Dani smiles, flashing his teeth. “Neymar’s a second year photography student here, and he agreed to be here because he lost a bet with me.”

Leo watches Neymar blush at that, ducking his head.

“He’s probably a little shy since he’s never done this before, so I’m going to spare him some dignity -- and you guys some work, by letting him keep his underwear on. You guys have two hours to capture him when I hit the timer. You will be submitting the piece you create at the end of these two hours as a grade for your mid-term exam.”

Dani turns and nods to Neymar, who walks over to the table and starts taking his clothes off. He tosses his hoodie on the table before tugging his t-shirt over his head and pulling his already loose jeans off. Peeling his socks off, he stands there in black boxers. Leo thinks that he doesn’t look that uncomfortable though, for all that Dani said that he was shy. He just saunters over to the model stand (in a way that makes Leo wonder if he’s doing it intentionally or if his legs actually just move that way), and leans against the wall, folding his arms.

The class is silent, but Leo’s not paying attention to everyone else anymore. He’s staring at the lines of muscle on Neymar’s stomach, looking at the soft curve of his back.

Neymar looks to Dani for instructions on a pose, but Dani just nods. “That looks fine to me. You guys have two hours starting...now.”

There’s an immediate rustle as everyone shuffles to open their sketchbooks and start. Leo barely moves, he’s so busy staring at this random second year. He’s got black tattoos running down his arms, there’s only one that Leo can make out from this distance and bizarrely enough --  it’s a huge tattoo of some girl’s face on his left shoulder. He’s intrigued by this boy, who seems shy and cocky at the same time, two traits Leo wouldn’t think would go together.

He doesn’t remember ever seeing him in the halls before, and the university isn’t exactly large. (Although Leo’s probably not the most sociable person out there either.) He’s not really sure where to start with this kid. His eyes can’t decide where to focus -- from the boy’s wide brown eyes that shine as he stares out of the window to the thin lines of his calves.

It’s only when Leo’s eyes flick towards Neymar’s hair that he notices Dani standing nearby, eyeing him amusedly. He looks pointedly at Leo and then at his sketchbook -- which is still blank. Leo can feel his cheeks heating as he averts his eyes quickly and starts outlining Neymar’s torso.

The minutes must be ticking by, but Leo’s finally entered that space. Where he doesn’t have to think about what he’s doing, it just happens automatically. His head is almost numbingly blank as his hand moves across the page -- tracing the lines of the boy’s body and filling in the shades of his muscles. For some reason, this doesn’t feel like the tedious chore of capturing reality that it always has when it comes to human figures. Maybe it’s because everything about this boy screams “contradictions.” His abs are definitely hard and defined, but the dimples at the bottom of his spine make him seem soft and young. His gaze is intense with his brows furrowed almost grumpily, but his face looks endearingly young and innocent. In fact, most of him screams “open book of emotions” but there’s nothing that Leo can read from the pose right now. He doesn’t know what the boy’s thinking, what emotion is filling him, and it’s a little bit disconcerting.

But Leo’s always liked a good challenge.

When he’s about two-thirds of the way through, he only has the face left -- and that’s where the challenge lies. He’s saved it for last because he’s hoping that the longer he looks at the boy, the more it’ll make sense. Perhaps by coincidence, the boy seems to be getting bored of just standing around and looking pensive, because his eyes flicker away from the window and sweep the classroom. His eyes meet Leo’s, and for a moment -- they just stare at one another.

Leo isn’t really sure what to do. But he doesn’t have to, because Neymar looks away first -- ducking his head quickly before averting his eyes quickly to the window. If the color of his cheeks has darkened, no one else in the room seems to have noticed. In fact, Leo looks around briefly -- realizing he has barely looked away from his sketchpad and Neymar in over an hour, and notices a lot of the first years glancing anxiously between the clock and their sketchpads.

He looks back down at his sketchpad and keeps going.

Half an hour later, Leo stops suddenly. His mind, trained by Pep-the-perfectionist, tells him technically he could fill in that shadow near the edge of the underwear, or that he could clean up all the stray lines left from the original outline, but something else in him screams that this sketch is done and not to touch it anymore.

So he doesn’t touch it. He drops his pencil in the crease of his sketchbook, and leans down and props his head on his arms, intending to close his eyes and take a little break. He stares a little bit longer at Neymar from behind his crossed arms. The boy seems incapable of standing still any longer, because he’s started doing small movements rapidly. He alternates between tapping his fingers against his arm and tapping his foot against the floor.

Leo’s eyes flutter shut.

He’s not really sure how long he’s dozing for, but when he wakes up it’s because his shoulders are aching. When he lifts his head, the classroom is still silent except for the constant sound of pencils scraping against paper. Leo figures that it can’t be long until the end of the two hours though. He looks back at the sketchbook he pushed in front of him while napping, and the sketch facing him actually surprises himself.

Usually Leo has to take a break from his work and come back to it in order to get a proper feel of whether or not he actually likes it. He’s had some sort of mental block in the past when it comes to humans though. No matter how long he looks away and comes back to the work-- it’s like it all looks the same. It’s fine, it’s always been passably good -- teachers have always liked it, but Leo’s never liked it. But this -- this messy sketch with scrawled lines for feet and absolutely no background or middleground development, Leo actually really likes it.

He feels proud of it. He’s not sure what he’s captured on paper, since he was barely able to read the emotions on Neymar’s face or in his positioning, but he knows there’s something there. He’s pretty sure he’s got something, even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is.

Before he can think deeply about shit like the existential meanings of this breakthrough however, there’s a repeated beeping sound that rings through the room. “Okay time,” Dani says.

There’s a few groans in the room and a few sighs, but everyone throws their pencils down on the desk. Leo sees Neymar finally move from his position leaning against the wall, shaking out his feet gently, rolling his ankles as he winces quietly, unnoticed by everyone else. He doesn’t make a move to grab his clothes and put them back on.

Meanwhile, Dani’s started collecting the sketchbooks, and every few seconds, Leo hears a quip or comment from Dani like “oof, nice work on the hair Munir” or “ahhhh those fingers, nice work Grimaldo.”

He takes Sergi’s sketchbook and smiles, winking at him and giving him a thumbs up. But when he comes to Leo’s drawing, he stops and just looks, tilting his head. He doesn’t make any attempt to grab the sketchbook (nor did Leo expect him to since he’s not taking this class for actual credit or anything), but he does let out a low whistle after a moment. “Stay back at the end Leo,” he says quietly.

And then he goes on collecting sketchbooks.

When the last of the students have left the classroom, including Neymar, who does finally pull his hoodie and jeans on after sitting around almost-naked for an extra five minutes while Dani talks to the class -- Dani comes back to Leo. Leo’s packing up his sketchbook and shoving his pencil haphazardly into the front pocket of his backpack -- trying to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do about that stupid senior portfolio proposal draft he’s supposed to be submitting to Luis Enrique in less than two hours now.

“Leo, listen, that sketch you did -- it’s excellent.”

“Thanks,” Leo mutters, not meeting Dani’s eyes as he ruffles through his backpack for his water bottle. He’s sure that he put it in here somewhere.

“No I’m saying it’s a fucking masterpiece Leo. I’ve never seen you capture someone like that. I remember your pieces in first year man -- they were great, but they were missing something. Like soul.”  Leo looks up at Dani now, abandoning his search for his water bottle. He’s never heard Dani sound this excited about something -- not even those awful songs he sings along to sometimes or his bizarre animal slippers he sometimes wears to class. “That piece you did of Ney -- it was like you knew him and captured his essence. It’s fucking fantastic, and I think you should try and do a few more works like that.”

“Okay,” Leo says blankly. An idea’s starting to form in his head, and he thinks it’s probably a really really awful one. “Yeah, I think I will do a few more pieces like that.”

**Dani smiles, patting him on the back before heading back to his front table to collect the sketchbooks.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t need you to be very experienced or anything. It’s up to you really -- but I want to use you as the basis of my final portfolio.”
> 
> “The whole thing? Just me?” Leo isn’t surprised that Neymar sounds so skeptical. Rarely do people choose to feature people as their final portfolio, because no one wants to be so limited. That’s why the concepts end up being more abstract. Also it’s probably really weird that Leo just wants to feature a random second year that he’s never met or talked to. “Um -- is there a reason why you want me in particular?”

Luis Enrique is staring at him from across the table. Leo’s looking back at him unblinkingly. There’s a plate of cookies sitting uneaten between the two of them, and Luis Enrique’s got Leo’s proposal sitting in front of him

“So you’re sure you want to do this?”

Leo nods nervously.

“You’ll be basing your portfolio off of this sample specifically?”

He nods again.

Luis Enrique purses his lips, squinting at him stone-faced. There’s a moment of silence, and Leo waits tensely. For one wild moment, he’s certain that Luis Enrique’s going to start laughing at him because of how ridiculous his idea is, and then call up Pep and ask what the fuck is wrong with Leo. He really wants the idea to be approved though. It’s his lifeline right now, and if it’s rejected - he’s not sure he’s going to be able to come up with a better one by next Monday (which is the protocol).

So he just waits anxiously, rubbings his hands against his kneecaps.

“Okay,” Luis Enrique says finally. “I’ll approve it.” He stamps the proposal form and smiles briefly at Leo, which is somehow also a little scary. “I expect a mid-way report in two and a half months, after your winter holidays.”

A little bubble of relief is rising in Leo. He practically runs out of Luis Enrique’s office before anyone can change their mind, and goes back to his dorm.

When he gets back, Gerard and Cesc are there waiting (while playing FIFA). “Well?” Cesc asks impatiently when Leo opens the door. Gerard pauses the game. “Did you get a portfolio topic approved?”

Leo nods, and the two of them burst into grins. They quickly run over to Leo, forcing him into a group hug while cheering. One of them smells a little bit like burnt popcorn, Leo notices.

“Okay so tell us everything. What’s your topic? What’d Lucho think?” Geri says, sitting back on the sofa.

Cesc sits down as well, looking at Leo expectantly. Geri’s eyeing the folder that Leo’s still holding in his hand. Leo briefly hopes that what Gerard had said about changing topics was right, because for a moment -- he’s convinced that his idea is complete insanity and that it’s bound to go wrong.

He also considers just not telling Cesc and Geri what he’s doing. He’s afraid they’ll laugh. But then he feels bad, because that’s not the kind of friends that Cesc and Geri are. Sure they’ll laugh at him constantly about stupid things, but he knows they would never about the important things that actually matter. (Important things like this stupid senior portfolio that Leo’s really starting to resent.)

“I --he approved it--”

“And?” Cesc asks eagerly. “What’d you come up with?”

“I’m doing my portfolio based on a person,” Leo mumbles, flopping down on the little bean bag chair by his bed.

Geri’s eyebrows go up a few centimeters when he hears that. Cesc looks bemused. Leo supposes that it’s not that bizarre of a reaction. Luis Enrique had a similar one. Leo’s not exactly known for being an artist who works with people. Landscapes, dreamscapes, cityscapes, animals, abstract, he can do all of that. But people has never been under his realm of personal expertise. Cesc and Geri both know that Leo has never been fond of drawing people. He had literally fallen asleep daily in their introductory course on human faces. (And usually, sane seniors don’t pick to work on something they are not fans of.)

Gerard recovers first. “Okay, so who is it?”

“Is it Anto?” Cesc jumps in jokingly, bringing up the third year fashion design major that Leo is friends with. Cesc and Geri had been convinced that Leo and Anto were dating for a good four months back in Leo’s second year before Anto set them straight.

“Shut up Cesc, stop talking about Anto -- we know it’s just because you like Daniella.” (Cesc’s love of talking about Anto might have more to do with his enormous crush on Daniella, Anto’s best friend who had graduated a year ago.)

“You know what Geri, what if you just shut the fuck up --”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth of yours Cesc--”

“Well--” Leo says weakly, and to his surprise, Geri and Cesc immediately quiet down. “Dani brought in a model for the figure drawing class today. And I did a sketch of him and it was all I had. So I guess - I’m focusing on him?” He hopes he’s not blushing, because if he is, he knows Cesc and Gerard won’t let this go until graduation (or possibly until he’s in the grave).

“Does he have a name?” Cesc asks curiously, inching slowly towards Leo. When he gets close enough, he grabs the portfolio proposal from Leo’s loose grip, and leaps back towards the couch to look at it with Geri.

“Um well, his name’s Neymar,” Leo is definitely blushing now, he’s pretty sure because his cheeks feel like they’re on fire. He’s not really sure what Cesc and Gerard are gonna think of him deciding to feature a random stranger in his year-long portfolio. “He’s a second year photo major.”

Gerard lets out a whistle as he stares down at the paper Leo ripped out of his sketchbook haphazardly before the meeting. Then, he tilts his head squinting. “He looks kinda familiar.”

“This is amazing Leo,” Cesc says, looking back at Leo, eyes wide. “I don’t know him-- but I feel like I know him after looking at this.”

“Do you know him?” Geri asks.

Leo shakes his head.

“You’re crazy you know,” Cesc says admiringly, handing the paper back to Leo. “Crazy -- in a Van Gogh kinda way.”

“Minus the ear-cutting though,” Geri chips in, and gets slapped in the back of his head by Cesc.

Leo figures that’s the best approval he’s going to get.

***

So now there’s only one real problem, and it’s that Leo hasn’t exactly asked Neymar if he wants to model for his portfolio. He didn’t really think about that issue when he went to Luis Enrique to get this approved. He’s not really sure what’ll happen if Neymar says no.

Will Enrique let him do a switch? (Leo realizes now that most people would have asked their subjects first if they’d like to be featured -- so the Dean probably hadn’t even thought about that issue.)

He waits outside Dani’s studio nervously. After a few long moments, the loud pounding music stops and Dani yells, “come on in!” When Leo walks in, it looks like a tornado has blown through the room. There’s paint scattered everywhere and white cloths covering almost every surface. Dani’s clothes are covered in paint.

“What’s up Leo?” Dani asks, pushing his circular sunglasses up his nose as he resumes splattering paint against a cloth hanging on the wall.

Leo doesn’t speak for a moment, curiously trying to identify what kind of project Dani is doing.

The paint splatters look kind of like boats from this angle.

“Leo?” Dani asks gently. Leo blinks. Dani’s stopped throwing paint at the sheets. “You okay?”

“Oh, um, sorry,” Leo says. “I came um -- to ask for help with something.”

Dani looks sort of amused at Leo’s reticence. “Okay? What do you need exactly.”

“I --” Leo shuffles his feet. “I need to talk to Neymar.”

Dani tilts his head appraisingly. Leo gets the strange feeling that he’s being evaluated (for worthiness maybe). “Okay?” He grabs his phone. “I can give you his number if you’d like,” he raises his eyebrows. Thankfully, Dani doesn't ask much else -- but Leo gets the feeling that Neymar's going to be interrogated later.

He goes back to his dorm after that and flops down on the couch. Leo isn’t really sure how to go about explaining this project, but he’s pretty sure that explaining it through text is not the move. So he texts Neymar: _hi, this is leo messi, Dani gave me your phone number. i have a project that i wanted to talk to u about._

He doesn’t even have a chance to put his phone down and get a drink of water when his phone buzzes with a reply. This kid is fucking fast. _Sure! want 2 meet in an hour? i have 2 develop some photos but then i’m free 4 the day :)_

_ok._

_where do u wanna meet?_

_u can come to my dorm fourth year hall room 10._

_sounds good :)_

Leo gets up and gets his glass of water, but now he has nothing really to do for an hour. Except maybe think about his portfolio a bit more. So instead he takes a nap.

He’s awakened by the sound of knocking on his door. Drowsily, Leo sits up, shaking sleep out of his head and rubbing his eyes. Padding over to the door, he opens it. Neymar’s standing right next to it, but he withdraws quickly when Leo opens the door, taking a step back warily. He’s dressed in a t-shirt with some English words Leo doesn’t understand on it and a pair of loose sweatpants, but his hair seems shorter than a few days ago. Leo wonders if he’s gotten a haircut or something. And which hairdresser tells him that this hair is a good idea.

“Hi.”

“This is the right room right? Room 10?” Neymar asks anxiously, tapping his fingers nervously against his phone. Leo realizes that this is the first time he’s ever heard this kid talk. His voice is a little bit raspy, as though he’d woken up hoarse after partying and singing all night -- and his Spanish while fluent, is heavily accented with Portuguese intonations.

“Yea.”

“And you’re Leo? You were in Dani’s class right? Nice to meet you!”

“Mhm,” Leo mumbles, stepping aside to let Neymar walk through the entryway and into his room. Neymar looks around carefully -- the whole room is covered in drawings after four years, with paint, pencil, markers, ink, all present on the walls, and unfinished works are lying around everywhere along with worn clothes. Then he turns around expectantly as if waiting for Leo to speak, but Leo doesn’t know exactly how to formulate his request into words so he’s still thinking and doesn’t notice.

“I thought that Dani said his class was for first years. But this is the fourth year hall...” Neymar finally says curiously.

Leo feels the need to explain this for some reason. “It was Xavi’s idea -- I was having trouble finding inspiration.”

“So you signed up for a class that only first years take?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

Neymar’s quiet for a minute, and Leo finds himself examining the boy’s angles. He has very nice eyes, and up close, he looks more slender -- all gentle curves and thin lines as opposed to the hard edges that men usually take on.

“Okay --” Neymar says nibbling at his lip. “So what do you need from me?”

“I - well,” Leo starts sheepishly. Neymar’s eyeing him now, looking a little confused. “I was wondering if I could do pieces based on you.” Nice, he thinks to himself. That didn’t sound creepy or weird at all Leo.

Neymar however, doesn’t look creeped out so much as hugely surprised. “You mean like - you want me as a muse?”

“As a model.”

“Me?”

Leo nods.

In the next second Neymar, who has been unnervingly polite and soft-spoken up until this point, somehow starts rambling. “Wait -- okay I’m not really good at this whole modeling thing though. I only did that for Dani because I lost a bet with him when we were playing five-a-side and I bet I could do a hattrick in 10 minutes….it only took me 12 but he said I still had to do it! He let me wear my underwear though because I still did it. So like, I don’t know --”

He’s silenced by the hand covering his mouth. Leo’s not really sure what possesses him to take a step forward and cover Neymar’s mouth with his hand, but for some reason what his mind chooses to focus on is how soft Neymar’s skin is. There’s a brief pause. “Relax.”

Neymar’s eyes are still wide, but he nods and doesn’t speak.

Leo takes his hand off of Neymar’s mouth. “Do you always talk this much?” he asks, feeling a little amused. He had Neymar pegged sort of right then, back in Dani’s class. Shy yet talkative, what a combination.

Neymar nods and then shrugs, apparently taking Leo’s words very seriously.

“I don’t need you to be very experienced or anything. It’s up to you really -- but I want to use you as the basis of my final portfolio.”

“The whole thing? Just me?” Leo isn’t surprised that Neymar sounds so skeptical. Rarely do people choose to feature people as their final portfolio, because no one wants to be so limited. That’s why the concepts end up being more abstract. Also it’s probably really weird that Leo just wants to feature a random second year that he’s never met or talked to. “Um -- is there a reason why you want me in particular?”

Leo shrugs. “I don’t usually like drawing people. But I liked drawing you.”

“Okay,” Neymar says, and if his cheeks are a little pink Leo doesn’t think it’d be appropriate to acknowledge it. “Okay yeah, I’ll help you. How does this like -- how does it work?”

“Are you free now?” Leo asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay well we can probably start now then. I’m already behind anyways.”

Leo just tells Neymar to do whatever he wants. Neymar doesn’t understand at first what exactly that entails. “Like can I just nap and you’ll draw me?” he asks. Leo nods, trying not to laugh when Neymar manages to raise an eyebrow while simultaneously squinting -- as though this concept of “doing anything he wants” makes no sense. He wonders what exactly it is Neymar does with his models.

Neymar ends up playing FIFA on the couch, leaning with one elbow against a pillow while arguing with the television. Leo’s glad that Neymar isn’t quite the loud and active FIFA gamer that Gerard and Cesc are, because even he can’t sketch fast enough to capture all of their wild motions.

By the time Neymar finishes two games, Leo’s done with the first sketch. He doesn’t even give it a second look because he knows that it’s good but it’s not quite at the level of the one he did in Dani’s class. “This is so strange,” Neymar says, leaning backwards against the couch and staring at his feet as Leo sketches his second position. His phone is in his hand, but he’s given up looking at it after Leo told him to stop moving when he started taking Snapchats. (It’s apparently very difficult for him to stay still, it’s either his fingers that have to be tapping or his foot, or he’s got to fix his hair and check it in his phone.)

“How did you even stay still for 2 hours last week?” Leo asks, frowning as he looks down at his half-finished second sketch. Something doesn’t look quite right -- he must be missing something important.

Neymar looks a little sheepish. “Dani threatened me -- he said if I moved he’d make me model naked for the class.”

Even while internally debating whether it’s an issue with the way he’s laid out the drawing, Leo can’t help but smile at that. Neymar perks up at seeing Leo smile, sitting up a little straighter. “Being naked isn’t your thing?”

“Okay -- well see -- I don’t mind going around in my underwear I do that all the time,” Neymar says, laughing in a way that makes him sound a bit like a suffocating whale (but adorably so, in Leo’s opinion). “But yeah I didn’t plan on showing everything off to innocent first years.”

Leo hums, still contemplating the problem with the drawing. “You guys are all almost the same age, that’s not so different.”

“I take offense to that!” Neymar says indignantly, folding his arms and then unfolding them immediately when he remembers he’s supposed to be sitting still. “A year is a long time -- you can mature a lot in a year.”

Leo can’t help but tease him a little bit -- he’s usually not a talker when doing art. He knows some people are talkers (Geri never fucking shuts up, and he knows Pep is that way too, Pep said it helped him concentrate) but it’s never been a part of his process. But there’s something about Neymar’s personality that’s playful and warm which charms people into speaking. He can understand why him and Dani would be close -- they share that trait, although Neymar seems more childish. Especially right now.

“How’s that extra year of maturity gone for you?”

Neymar sticks his tongue out petulantly in response, which is sort of self-defeating in Leo’s opinion. “It’s gone great thank you very much, I’d never left Brazil before I came to Barcelona so...obviously I figured a lot of stuff out.”

“Like how to do your laundry?”

“Okay yeah. But also how to make a great risotto.”

Leo laughs and Neymar does too. Leo sets aside the sketchbook for awhile. He’s figured through scrutinizing it at every angle that this second sketch is not going to get any better.

“You never left Brazil before you came here though?” Leo asks curiously.

“Well, sorta,” Neymar sounds hedgy when he admits it, and fiddles with the strings of his loose sweatpants without looking at Leo. “When I was 13, I flew to Madrid for a week. There was like a boarding school that wanted me as a scholarship kid -- and like everything was set. It would’ve fed me into the art university in Madrid.”

It makes sense that he’s a little careful with this particular piece of information, Leo thinks, because it’s a known fact that Mourinho and Pep were exes who ended up having a spectacular falling out. Besides the fact that Madrid and Barcelona were already inherently the top two rival schools when it came to art universities in Spain, Jose Mourinho had been the head of Madrid for awhile, and had competed constantly with Pep to have graduates be featured in different showcases and private dealerships. Mourinho had accused Pep of using his background connections to get his students into galleries, and Pep had never forgiven him for that insult.

(Leo sort of thought that Pep’s vacation to Germany may have had something to do with Mourinho’s stress inducing presence when it came to institutional business. Even if Pep had never said, Leo figured that he must have really loved and respected Jose in order for the insult to hurt him so deeply.)

He snaps out of this train of thought and looks back at Neymar, who is now wide-eyed, watching him anxiously as though waiting for judgment. “Why didn’t you go?”

Neymar’s cheeks flush and he looks down again so he’s no longer meeting Leo’s eyes, untying and retying the string on his pants. “I got homesick,” he admits.

“I know the feeling.”

Neymar does look up at him now, and his eyes shine wondrously, as if Leo has said something absolutely amazing. “Really?”

“I got homesick when I first came here,” Leo says. He isn’t planning on elaborating further, but there’s something so hopeful and innocent in Neymar’s eyes that he just wants them to keep paying attention to him so he can keep feeling warm. “I had trouble adjusting at first -- I didn’t want to leave my room or anything I was so scared. But Cesc and Geri helped me a lot.”  
“But you’re like -- amazing,” Neymar protests without a single note of hesitance. “Everyone knows you’re the best student in this school -- they always said Pep thought you were a fucking genius.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not human -- I can still miss people, my family, my friends.”

“I guess so -- but everyone here loves you -- all my friends who are like here for drawing or painting worship you,” Neymar says, and Leo’s starting to wonder exactly what the younger levels are saying about him. “I think one of my friends got his cousin to bid for one of your works for like a hundred thousand dollars.”

Leo traces the rough edges of his sketchbook where flyers, receipts, and magazine pages are all sticking out from where he shoved them in haphazardly for “inspiration” (or rather laziness). He doesn’t ever feel like he’s good at receiving praise -- he knows when he’s got a good piece, but it’s still really weird to hear people talking about them reverentially or something. 

“What about you?” Leo asks, trying to move the conversation away from him. “Dani mentioned you’re really good -- and you’re a photo major right?”

“Yeah I am,” Neymar perks up, looking excited that Leo’s remembered something about him. “I was debating between photo and digital design but photo’s way more fun than sitting at a computer all day.”

Leo nods and Neymar seems to take that as an indication to keep talking.

“I think it’s cool you know? But a lot of photo majors do such boring stuff man, I was looking through the files that like seniors registered for their senior portfolios and they’re doing stuff like ‘trees in the water’ or like ‘dancers’ like what the fuck that’s so straight forward and bland -- where’s the artistry? We’re not at art school to become photographers for like the daily newspaper, we’re here to do something extraordinary.” It’s clear that Neymar can talk on this subject all day based off of the way that his face lights up when he talks about photography.

Leo doesn’t know much about photography, it’s never interested him that much. He uses his phone to take most pictures and occasionally a digital camera to photograph his works for digital files and that’s pretty much the extent of what he knows. But listening to Neymar talk about it is like listening to someone who’s seen the Narnia of art. He mentions a bunch of his idols who are also huge in the photography industry apparently like Robinho and Ronaldo (not apparently the painter that Leo knows goes to Madrid’s art school), who’ve pioneered different types of photography within the art world -- incorporating different mediums.

Neymar’s hands are waving around rapidly as he talks about how there’s one exhibition that Ronaldo did that he went to when he was a kid when suddenly he seems to become aware of just how much he’s talked. He shuts up abruptly, trailing off in the middle of the sentence and letting his hands falter from their flailing. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “You probably didn’t really care about all of that.”

“No no,” Leo says hastily, trying to keep Neymar going. He’s never really featured people in his works before, but common sense says that getting to know and understand a person better makes a work better. “I think it’s really cool -- I don’t know much about photography or anything.”

“You can come with me when I do my project,” Neymar suggests. And then backtracks hastily. “Well like, only if you want to! It’s just an idea - you know, if you want an idea for your project.” He twists his hands together.

“I can do that,” Leo responds, picking up his notebook to make a mark in it reminding him to do that. “What’s your sec-proj?”

(Sec-proj was some sort of awful name that an anonymous student had come up with back in the old days of Barcelona that was a shortened version of “second project” that had become typical lingo. Leo’s sec proj had been all large canvas landscapes, inspired by all of Pep’s ideas).

“I -- well,” Neymar hesitates, tapping his fingers against the worn material of the sofa with one hand while flipping his phone with his other hand. “It’s kind of like -- hard to explain, you’ll probably think it’s lame. But like basically, I’m going to document a lot of my own life and my friendships and stuff, and at the end of the year -- I’ll pick one strand of that year -- it could be like a person or a string of events-- and show the storyline behind it.”

Leo processes that for a brief second. “That sounds fucking awesome,” he says, thoroughly impressed. It can go really wrong, he knows it in the back of his mind, because if your relationships are deadbeat and boring as fuck then you won’t have any material that’ll be of interest at the end of the year. But something about Neymar tells him that the execution of this idea might be a masterpiece.

Neymar smiles widely at that, and his eyes get all squinty. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Leo thinks to himself that this kid is kind of beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh Neymar, trying to play it cool but at the end of the day he's the biggest fanboy there is. Thank you guys so much for your comments and general appreciation! I haven't had time to respond to all of them but I promise I will :) -- tell me what you think of this chapter (good? bad? what you hope I'll include? i'm always open to adapting.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “No I -- really I do,” Leo insists again, holding out the picture of the girl who is in the middle of jumping off a cliff..[...].“This one is really good.”
> 
> Neymar frowns, looking at it for a moment, tilting his head as if still thinking. “Thanks,” he finally says flatly, taking his photographs back from Leo and shoving it back in his folder. Then he looks back at Leo, and looks back at the staircase uncertainly, as if he isn’t sure whether or not he should be going.
> 
> “I -- are you okay?” Leo asks cautiously. Neymar hasn’t been this hedgy with him for the brief time that Leo’s known him, but he also knows that Neymar can go from pouty and petulant to laughing his ass off in a moment so he isn’t sure whether this is one of those instances.

Two weeks later though, Leo is starting to realize he has a problem. He’s got over twenty-five sketches of Neymar doing random shit, sitting in class, eating in the cafeteria, on the computer, and like one of him taking photographs -- and he likes them all a lot, but he isn’t sure which he’d want to actually create into paintings. They’re all good, but they don’t have the same quality or spark of the piece that Leo had done originally in Dani’s class. (But that doesn’t turn out to be the problem.)

When Leo goes to the studio to start his first canvas off, he only has one sketch that he’s really certain he’ll use as a reference for the final piece -- which is the original one of Neymar, and he sets out to start painting it using the sketches. He gessos the canvas, priming it for use, and lets it dry for a moment before squeezing out the oil colors to start out. The process is so familiar to him that it’s almost soothing, the roll of his paintbrush in his hand, the rough texture of this canvas against his fingers, and the quiet silence of the empty studio makes him relax quickly into his normal mental space.

But it’s when Leo starts painting that the block comes back. He hesitates right as his paintbrush tip reaches the canvas, used to letting his instincts take over and guide him through the painting. Instead though, he can feel the nerves rising as no inspiration comes. It shouldn’t matter, he tells himself firmly. Just because the inspiration is blocked right now doesn’t mean that it won’t come. He just needs to keep working and it’ll come naturally after that.

But he paints for an hour and a half, outlining and editing and adding new lines and he knows there’s something wrong. It’s not that the lines aren’t coming out right, they are -- it’s clearly Neymar’s figure that’s formed on the canvas. The problem is that he knows this isn’t the mental space that he was in when he had drawn Neymar that day, where the only thing his mind could think of was the lines of Neymar’s stomach muscles and the thin curve of his lips. Now his mind is all over the place, unable to focus -- and it’s actually kind of embarrassing.

He’s a fourth year senior, he’s bullshitted his way through enough crazy assignments, it’s ridiculous that he just can’t pull it together for one final fucking assignment. His brush stops moving, and Leo clenches his teeth trying to force himself to focus. It just won’t happen though, and eventually he gives up -- dropping his brush.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

Over a week after his first attempt, Leo’s finally forced to admit to himself that he has a problem and that this mental block seems to be stubbornly unavoidable. He’s tried every day to paint, sat in the studio for hours, trying different tips that Pep had mentioned for when a mental block comes. None of them seem to be working though. To top it all of, he also hasn’t gone to class all week, which isn’t technically that bad considering fourth year students are only required to take two courses in addition to completing their portfolios, but he knows the 8 missed hours of class are going to be a pain to make up later.

He’s heading back upstairs from the basement studio when he crashes into someone on the second floor landing. There’s an almost hilarious explosion of square papers that results from it, and he sits on the floor, stunned for a moment by the impact. When everything stills, the papers stop fluttering and reach the floor, Leo shakes himself out of his daze and recognizes the person in front of him.

“Leo!” Neymar says, looking a little frazzled. He’s sitting on the ground too, and his baseball cap’s been knocked on the ground from their collision and his hair looks ruffled. He’s holding his camera though, so at least that hasn’t been broken from the crash. “Sorry! I didn’t see you I just opened the door and you were there but I was like running so I didn’t really have a chance to stop when I saw you there. Sorry!”

“You already said that,” Leo replies hazily, looking at the ground where his sketchbook has fallen. He leans over gingerly to pick up the sketchbook. “Are you okay?”

Neymar furrows his eyebrows, scooting closer on his knees to look at Leo. “Yeah I’m fine, you look a little out of it though,” he says, hesitantly brushing Leo’s hair aside with a few fingers to eye his forehead. “Did you hit your head or anything?”

“I think I might’ve against your arm,” Leo mumbles. “I’m not sure -- I think I’m okay though. Just a little winded.” He picks up a few of the square papers (photographs, he realizes) next to Neymar and hands them to Neymar.

Neymar takes them and backs away quickly, crawling around and collecting his pictures without saying anything else to Leo. Leo sits, watching Neymar curiously. He sees a few of the photographs before Neymar picks them up.

They’re quite good, a mixture of all different kinds of things -- but people seem to be the main focus. “Can I see those?” he asks. Neymar’s taken photographs in front of him before, but he’s never actually shown him any of them.

He knows they’re supposedly very good. Gerard looked up the school’s sophomore profiles (his family connection to the school had some uses, Leo supposed), and found that Neymar was the highest rated sophomore in terms of teacher reviews and grades amongst all majors. But Leo’s never felt like it was appropriate to ask.

Neymar looks at him in surprise. “I oh --” he looks down at the photos in his hands. “Well, these aren’t very good,” he admits. “I just developed them, but I don’t like how they turned out really.”

“Can I see?” Leo repeats, moving to get up.

Neymar’s next to him in an instant, leaning over to offer a hand. “Here,” he says when they’re both standing. He holds out the photographs to Leo. There are maybe 20 or so. Leo shuffles through them. A lot of them seem to be his friends, because they appear in a number of his photographs.

Some appear to be of them in the midst of dancing, in bed sick, drinking, waking up hungover, playing with sparklers, jumping off cliffs, crying, laughing -- Neymar’s captured life in these pictures. Or rather, what it means to be alive and young and free. Leo looks up at him to see Neymar’s eyebrows furrowed, watching him. He doesn’t look anxious so much as blank, like he’s waiting for Leo to say something.

“I like these,” Leo says. The praise comes out a little flat, and he knows Neymar thinks so.

Neymar looks away. “You don’t have to be nice,” he mumbles.

“No I -- really I do,” Leo insists again, holding out the picture of the girl who is in the middle of jumping off a cliff. Neymar’s captured it so that the background is just a little blurry, but it’s wonderfully done. He's suddenly a little frustrated, because he wants Neymar to understand just how fantastic he thinks it is, but Leo's never been known as the little magician because of his words. “This one is really good.”

Neymar frowns, looking at it for a moment, tilting his head as if still thinking. “Thanks,” he finally says flatly, taking his photographs back from Leo and shoving it back in his folder. Then he looks back at Leo, and looks back at the staircase uncertainly, as if he isn’t sure whether or not he should be going.

“I -- are you okay?” Leo asks cautiously. Neymar hasn’t been this hedgy with him for the brief time that Leo’s known him, but he also knows that Neymar can go from pouty and petulant to laughing his ass off in a moment so he isn’t sure whether this is one of those instances.

Neymar doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his eyebrows stay furrowed and his frown is still there -- Leo thinks momentarily that Neymar is much cuter when he’s smiling and laughing. Grumpy Neymar doesn’t seem that nice, it doesn’t fit his face. He doesn’t get to dwell on why this particular thought has popped into his mind though, because Neymar blurts out all of a sudden, “have you found a new project idea yet?”

Leo freezes, looking at Neymar. “What?”

“I - you don’t have to feel bad about not telling me,” Neymar says, and the words apparently rush out of him now that he’s spoken, but he doesn't look at Leo while he rubs his arm. “I’m not mad at you or anything -- but like we can still be friends and stuff because I think you’re super cool and --”

“I haven’t changed my project,” Leo interrupts him, confused as to what Neymar is talking about. Like sure, Leo’s got some issues with his project at the moment -- but he knows that this mental block has gotta be a temporary one. He’ll get around it. He refuses to go to Lucho and tell him that he’s changing his idea so soon after starting it.

Neymar’s the one bewildered now, eyeing Leo like he’s just something really crazy. “What?”

“What gave you the idea that I was changing my project idea?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you haven’t tried meeting up with me in almost two weeks? I asked Dani and he said you hadn’t been to class either -- so I figured you had a new inspiration and were doing something else,” Neymar says, now fiddling with the brim of his hat that he’d put back on earlier.

“Oh,” Leo says blankly. He supposes that that does make sense, but he’s amazed by how much thought Neymar has put into this theory. “I -- no I haven’t got a new idea. I’m still working on the one with you -- but --” he breaks off, not sure if he should explain everything to Neymar. He’s not sure that’ll help any, he hasn’t told Cesc and Geri mostly because he’s not sure he wants them to see him facing a mental block and hovering over him about it. Maybe he also hasn't said anything because he doesn't want to admit it to himself that he's stuck. Mostly because when Pep was here, this had never happened before. And ever since Pep's left -- things haven't been the same.

(But Leo doesn't want everyone thinking that Pep is the reason why he's good. He is good, and he knows he can create without Pep. He just still has to...figure it out.)

“You can tell me," Neymar says.

“I -- well, I have like, a mental block,” Leo admits, and Neymar cocks his head to the side in confusion, so Leo goes on to try and explain it. “Like, I don’t know -- I didn’t have problems when I was sketching, but when I try painting, it’s weird. It’s like, my mind won’t connect properly to the process.”

“Like your work isn’t in sync with your mind anymore?”

“Yeah, like that. I didn’t go to class because I was sitting in the studio every day for like a week and a half.”

“Did it work?” Neymar asks.

“No.”

Neymar frowns, but to Leo’s surprise, he starts heading down the stairs. “The art studios are down in the basement too right?” he asks at the bottom of the next set. Leo makes his way down as well, and nods.

Neymar walks straight through the halls to the art studio, letting Leo follow along behind him. The walls echo with their footsteps, and it’s early enough in the afternoon that there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. (Leo’s noticed that most art students like to sleep during the afternoon and work at night. Cesc always said his best art companion was midnight. Geri just slapped him for saying that.)

He looks over at Leo when they reach one of the first studios, before looking back at the key card slot. Leo slides his, and Neymar sighs when he opens the door. “As I expected.”

“What?” Leo can’t help but ask.

“Well, it’s boring as fuck in here. White walls, white tile floor, white sheets, white canvases, the only thing with color is like the paints in white tubes. How do you guys even survive in here?” Neymar asks, running his fingers against the smooth drywall. He sets his camera and photos gently down on the empty table near the doorway, and then walks around the room inspecting everything.

“All the studios are like this.”

“Exactly! That’s why you’re having issues being inspired. Even Leonardo Da Vinci himself would probably run dry of ideas in here.”

“I’ve never had a problem with it before though,” Leo frowns.

“Well things change you know. Maybe now you do!” Neymar shrugs, leaning against the wall casually and folding his arms. “You said you don’t have a problem sketching right? So maybe it’s like -- when you’re in a comfortable environment, you can relax and your mind just goes with the flow. This place is like jail.”

It doesn’t sound that crazy really. Leo considers the suggestion a little bit. It has been difficult even thinking about shades or outlines or proportional lines of reference every time he walks in this room so maybe it does have something to do with it.

But, he realizes with curiosity, he’s not having trouble focusing on it right now. His mind is focused on the smooth line that Neymar’s body makes while leaning against this wall, the slight curve of his back and the wrinkles of his loose jeans being the only aberrations.

His mind is already drawing out the proportions, laying out the body, and he realizes that the positioning is quite similar to the natural one which Neymar had taken during Dani’s art class.

“Wait, okay, don’t move.” Leo says abruptly, moving away from the door and letting it shut, seizing at the fact that his mind is actually working normally again and moving quickly to prop a canvas against the stand. The canvas has already been gessoed by someone else, but Leo figures that doesn’t take so long and it’s blank so he can probably take it. Neymar to his credit, doesn’t move, and watches curiously as Leo sets out the paints quickly, pulling out oil and a pallet.

Leo’s praying that his mind doesn’t pick now to shut off. He doesn’t want to go back into that week and a half of boring uninspiring disinterest. This time though, when his paint brush tip meets the canvas, his eyes flicker over to Neymar, who’s still leaning against the wall, cutting the same slim slouchy sort of figure that Leo remembers walking into Dani’s class a month ago and made it into Leo’s original sketch.

The only difference is that while Neymar’s eyes had wandered from the window to around the classroom in Dani’s class, now Neymar’s just watching Leo curiously.

And Leo’s drawing. The lines come easily, free-flowing and smooth. It’s amazing to Leo, how much easier that this is. He barely has to think whereas all he had done in the last week was think and overthink about how nice it would be not to think. It’s the mode, which Leo doesn’t even know how to describe, and it comes so instinctually and so naturally that the comfort of it wraps around him like a blanket, making him smile a little bit as his hand moves quickly against the canvas -- trying to capture it all.

Neymar doesn’t move at all, he’s just watching Leo. He doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t scratch an itch. He’s still as a statue, but Leo thinks he might understand what’s going on.

With his mind free to relax into the painting, Leo doesn’t quite process the passage of time. For him, it’s just line after line, mixing and mixing, shade after shade. So he isn’t quite sure how long he’s been working for, when Neymar finally does move, moving his neck a little bit as though trying to get a crick out. He lets out a quiet moan as he does so, mostly out of displeasure, but Leo picks up on it because the room is so quiet.

He doesn’t look up from his pallet where he’s trying to mix the right color that would be Neymar’s skin. The color is rich and warm brown with golden undertones, and he’s almost got it right. The whine though, catches him off guard. His ears are alert, all of a sudden, and his eyes, when they go back to Neymar, focus right in on that section of skin between Neymar’s neck and shoulders.

He keeps painting though, because he’s pretty sure that Neymar didn’t mean for him to hear that -- and he’s also pretty sure that it’s just a sound of discontent. He speeds up, hoping that he can get the bulk of the painting done quickly, and just refine the details later on when it’s not wasting away Neymar’s time.

Neymar continues watching him quietly, but when Leo walks back for a moment to inspect the Neymar that’s taken shape on the canvas, he speaks for the first time. “How’s it look?”

Leo smiles at him. “Thank you for standing so long. I think I’ve got the gist of it down so you can move now, and leave if you’re busy.”

Neymar doesn’t leave though, instead he walks towards Leo. When he gets closer, he turns towards the canvas and the two of them stand there, looking at Leo’s half finished painting. “Can I take a few pictures?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah if you want to,” Leo says. “It’s not done though.”

“I know. Hang on.” Neymar goes back to the other corner of the small studio to get his camera, and adjusts the lense for a moment, taking a photo from there. Leo blinks. He was expecting the photo to be of the painting, so he’s a little surprised when he realizes that the painting isn’t even visible from the angle Neymar had taken it from. (And then he remembers Neymar’s photos -- they’re almost all of people. Then he’s a little less surprised.)

Neymar lets out another sound when he stands up to put his camera back though. “My neck hurts from leaning.”

“I’m sorry --”

“No dude, it’s totally okay! It was cool watching you paint,” Neymar says, immediately coming back across the room to hover near him anxiously. “I didn’t mean to complain. It’s just -- I pulled my neck yesterday when I was hanging from the monkey bars to get this shot, and now it hurts whenever I’m not really lying down. I think our -- crash probably didn’t help.”

“You should get a massage,” Leo says, brushing his hand against Neymar’s shoulder. Neymar doesn’t relax though, if anything, he gets stiffer. So Leo takes his hand away. Neymar’s shoulders sag after that, so Leo figures touch probably isn’t Neymar’s thing.

(Although, he does think that’s a little weird, because the few times he sketched Neymar in class and stuff, he was always super affectionate with his friends -- hugging them and kissing their cheeks and stuff. He wonders blankly why Neymar is so averse to doing so with him. Maybe because they aren’t friends.)

He doesn’t really like that thought, so he goes back to painting -- focusing on the canvas in front of him again. The movement is natural and he slips easily back into the mode, but he’s hyperaware of Neymar hovering behind him now - watching.

He doesn’t say anything. Not when Neymar steps closer to peer over his shoulder. Not when he can feel Neymar’s body heat emanating.

He just keeps painting, and eventually -- the sensory of Neymar being right there next to him, watching him, fades into a comfortable closeness, so that he’s no longer consciously hyper aware of it. And then it’s another blur of time, he’s not sure how long he’s sitting there with Neymar standing there next to him watching, all he’s aware of is the color that’s needed or the fold of the jeans that needs a highlight to make it more realistic.

At some point, he feels a little bit hungry, but that fades too -- and he only stops when instinct tells him he’s done for now. Neymar’s fully realized on the canvas, and there’s a faint indication of some sort of background which Leo figures he can change later if need be. In the foreground, he’s painted a little bit of his view of the canvas into the painting, the “inception painting” as Geri likes to call it.

He stands up and tilts his head, rolling the cricks out of it, when he realizes Neymar is still standing there, watching. “I think I’m done for now,” he says, observing the canvas in front of him. He’s pretty sure

Neymar is staring at him. “Dude, you paint so fucking fast.”

Leo blinks. “How long was I painting for?”

Neymar digs into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his phone. The home screen lights up briefly and it’s Neymar’s turn to blink. “Oh, okay I thought it was like an hour or something that I was standing here. It’s almost nine thirty.” He pauses and then adds, “that’s still really fucking fast though. I thought Da Vinci took like ten years to do one painting.”

“Unfortunately for me --” Leo says, scraping and dumping his leftover paints into the trash and tossing the brushes in the cleansing solution. “My portfolio has to be done in a year, and I can’t turn in one-tenth of a painting.”

Neymar giggles and walks up closer to the painting now that Leo’s moved out of his seat. “Is this still wet?” he asks, leaning closer, making as if to touch it.

“It’s gonna be wet for another two or three weeks.”

“That’s forever.”

“Oil paints are like that.”

“Well,” Neymar says, folding his arms and eyeing the painting as if analyzing it critically. “Do you like it?”

“I--” Leo frowns, moving from the sink where he’s trying fruitlessly (he knows) to wipe the paints off of his hands, “I think so. I usually just have a feeling if the painting needs work. I think this one doesn’t need much -- but I’ll have to come back and take another look.”

“Fair enough,” Neymar shrugs, stepping back as Leo takes the canvas off of the stand and carefully moves it towards the drying rack. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure,” Leo says as he’s making sure that the canvas hasn’t brushed against anything else in there. Once in second year he left a half-finished painting in the drying rack and some fucking first year had dropped their canvas on top of it -- it left a sort of cool pattern on the canvas that was salvageable but Leo was still pissed.

“Okay -- so I was wondering like, if you could help me with my project a little maybe?” Neymar asks, twirling the cross necklace he wears around with his hand, sticking the cross in his mouth, which Leo doesn’t think is all that sanitary. “Like -- if I could take pictures of you while you’re painting?”

“Yeah okay,” Leo says unthinkingly.

Neymar stops though and starts grinning. “Really?” He sounds delighted like he hadn’t thought that Leo would actually agree to it.

“Sure, we’re friends right? You’re helping me, so it’s only fair.”

“We’re friends?” Neymar says uncertainly.

Leo looks at him blankly. He’s not really sure if he’s been sending bad vibes or something -- like he’s pretty bad at making friends, but he can’t possibly have been so rude that Neymar thought he didn’t like him at all. (Then again just a few hours ago Neymar had been really upset and Leo hadn’t known that it was his fault so maybe he isn’t as aware of things as he should be.) But the smile on Neymar’s face is growing, so Leo hopes that this news of him seeing them as friends is a good thing.

He’s proven correct when he nods a little and Neymar automatically crushes him into the sort of hug that empties your chest of oxygen and squishes you and fills your nose with the scent of the other person (some faint sort of cologne and spearmint in Neymar’s case). Leo hugs back, feeling a little amused, and rubs Neymar’s back a little.

Then a thought occurs to him. “Would that mean I’d be like, drawing you while you’re photographing me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh just a little misunderstanding (for now). This chapter was originally gonna be super long and then 2/3 of the way through writing it I had the genius idea of just making it two separate chapters. Fun times (sexy times) and tough times are all coming I promise...we just gotta get Leo through this little mental block first. Hope you guys enjoy :) thank you so much for reviewing and leaving kudos I really appreciate it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leo is touching up the painting of Neymar sleeping and as his hand scrapes gently against the canvas his mind suddenly flashes to that feeling of Neymar's legs wrapped around him, rubbing against him -- and he’s half-hard before he even realizes it.
> 
> He brushes that off to the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid in ages and that the experience was so recent, but then a few days later, when he’s just touching up a few details on the first painting he did of Neymar in the studio now that it’s finally dried properly -- Leo’s thinking about the feeling of Neymar’s soft skin and the brush of Neymar’s lips against his his neck, and his cheeks heat up.

Leo’s quickly finds that apparently Neymar’s idea of being friends is a little different than Leo’s. Leo’s idea of being friends usually constitutes of playing FIFA occasionally and getting along well enough to chat and do one another favors. Neymar’s idea of being friends with someone involves Snapchatting them constantly at all hours of the day (and night) and texting them random questions all the time.

The first time Leo gets a Snapchat of Neymar drunkenly singing, he forgets his volume is on and Geri and Cesc are treated to a bizarre version of El Perdon. Both Neymar and Dani are shirtless and Leo isn’t really sure if he’ll ever get that image out of his head.

But Leo’s main issue with Neymar’s idea of friendship is that Neymar’s idea of friendship is very tactile. As in Neymar seems to always find a way to be touching Leo whenever they’re hanging out. It’s either him brushing a hand against Leo’s arm or giving aggressive hello and goodbye hugs or sitting so their thighs are touching.

Leo doesn’t mind at all really, but he finds his mind occasionally wandering back to that day in the studio when Neymar flinched away from him and he wondered if Neymar didn’t like being touched. He’s finding it’s the exact opposite nowadays -- Neymar literally will not stop touching him. Leo’s noticed however, as he’s seen Neymar greeting his other friends occasionally when they’re talking in the halls, that Neymar is generally just a very affectionate person. He hugs everyone, tucking his head against the taller people and wrapping his arms around them, enveloping the shorter ones and ruffling their hair a little with his free hand.

Leo doesn’t mind. The only issue however, is that Neymar’s affection is only amplified when he’s drunk. And that’s not so bad when Leo isn’t around for it and just sees snippets of it in forms of Snapchat stories and a few Facetimes from Neymar. But then one time, Neymar shows up to one of their scheduled sessions drunk.

Ever since the studio session, Neymar’s agreed to be painted by Leo if he can just sit or stand around and photograph him back. Leo has done three paintings of Neymar photographing him in those two weeks, one of Neymar in the photography studio sitting on a stool, one of Neymar when he’s done taking photos of Leo and has reverted to just fiddling with the lenses and taking selfies with his camera, and one at an up-close angle where Neymar is lying on his stomach, elbows propping himself up, tilting the camera towards him (in an angle that Leo is pretty sure can’t be too flattering but Neymar’s the photographer here -- or at least that’s what Neymar says when Leo points it out).

(It’s weird at first, but Leo finds that he doesn’t seem to have any trouble painting when Neymar’s there with him. He’s not sure what to think about this new development, but Neymar’s a good partner to work with. He shows up on time to their sessions and is generally pleasant and quiet to work with since he’s generally so focused on his own craft.)

But then one night, when they’ve planned to do another painting/photography session at like 11 pm, Neymar shows up at least twenty minutes late and a few drinks past tipsy, humming to himself as Leo lets him in.

“Ney are you okay?” Leo asks carefully, as Neymar seizes his outreached arm and drapes his arm around him, dropping his bag at the door. He’s suddenly glad that Geri and Cesc have gone out to a party tonight because they haven’t met Neymar yet (although Geri still claims that he thinks he knows Neymar), and he’s not really sure if this is the exact impression he wants them to have of the guy he’s been painting for over a month now.

“I’m fineeee hiii Leo,” Neymar giggles, words relaxed by the obvious alcohol intake. He smells like some mix of fruity drinks and alcohol. “I’m sorry I’m a little laaate, I was photographing this show the dance kids were doing, my friend Rafa was dancing in it, and like Dani gave me a few drinks afterwards at the banquet sooo I got a little distracted.” His eyes are wide when he looks at Leo. “I’m sorry! Are you mad at me?”

He pouts a little and Leo fights the urge to laugh because he looks so ridiculous with his hat on backwards and his tux and sneakers and little childlike pout. “I’m not mad at you Ney, you’re only a little late anyways,” he says reassuringly, helping Neymar shed his jacket and shoes before trying to lead over to the couch to sit down so he can go get him a glass of water.

“Oh okay good,” Neymar says, relaxing against him for a moment. Leo tries to use this to force him to sit down on the couch, but Neymar’s grip tightens suddenly, fighting against the idea of letting go of Leo. “Nooo I wanna stay with you,” he whines.

“Ney I just wanna get you some water is that okay?” Leo replies, trying to pry Neymar’s fingers off of him.

“I’m okayy I’m not thirsty I swear,” Neymar says, using his height advantage to pull them both down onto the couch and wrapping his legs and arms around Leo in a tangled mess of limbs. “I just wanna hug you.”

Leo can feel the fabric of his shirt tighten against him as Neymar grabs the material against his fist, squirming against him as he fights to extract himself. The friction of Neymar’s hips rubbing constantly against his jeans is getting a reaction, accidental or not, and Leo shifts his hips, trying to get away from Neymar’s tight embrace when he feels himself growing hard. “Ney--”

“Leeeoo,” Neymar sing-songs, rubbing his nose against Leo’s neck. “Leooo you have really soft hair,” he says, rubbing the strands on top of Leo’s head in spite of the small noise of protest from Leo.

“I--”

Neymar stops moving suddenly, which Leo is thankful for because it gives him a chance to catch a breath and focus on getting Neymar off of him and getting him a glass of water. “I’m really hot.”

“What?”

“Not like I don’t think I’m hot-- okay well I mean, I think I’m okay, but not hot like that. I mean like, it’s really hot in here,” Neymar whines, licking his lips. “Do you promise not to move away?” he asks, blinking innocently at Leo. His face is so close to Leo’s that Leo blinks for a moment, pulling his gaze away from Neymar’s wet lips and to his wide brown eyes. In this light they have a greenish tint, reflective and pretty. Leo nods a little without thinking.

Then, before Leo can even react, Neymar’s sits up quickly and unbuttons his shirt. As he gets to the second to last button though, Leo unfreezes, snapping out of his stupor to run over to get a bottle of water from next to his bed. “Leooo,” Neymar says sadly, sounding as wounded as if Leo has just stabbed him in the back with a knife, and Leo, against his will, does feel a little bit bad for lying. When Leo looks over at him, he bears resemblance to a kicked puppy with his forlorn expression.

Leo goes back towards him quickly. He’s not sure if Neymar is a crying drunk (he certainly is an affectionate one, which hardly surprises Leo), but he definitely doesn’t want a crying Neymar on his hands. He might have to call Dani to pick up his mess if that does happen. “Ney, look, I just wanted to get you some water,” Leo says gently, leaning in front of Neymar, holding out the water bottle in his left hand. Neymar looks up at him pouting. “I’ll lay down with you on my bed if you get up and drink some water yeah?”

Neymar acquiesces easily enough, taking the water bottle and drinking most of it -- before letting Leo help him over to the bathroom (Leo stands outside while he pees). When he comes out, he seems a little bit calmer. Or at least a little bit quieter. He still wraps his arms immediately around Leo though, leaning (in what must be a slightly uncomfortable position) to rest his head against Leo’s shoulder and let himself be guided to Leo’s bed.

Leo doesn’t intend to back down on his word this time, especially not after seeing Neymar’s previous reaction, so he helps Neymar onto the bed and flicks off the lights before he lies down next to him. Neymar clings to him immediately, snuggling happily against him as Leo pulls the sheets over their waists. “Shouldn’t you be painting me?” Neymar says, even as he noses against Leo’s neck, lips brushing gently across his skin. Leo’s not sure whether or not to say anything about that.

“Maybe a little later, let’s rest a bit,” Leo responds, rubbing gently against Neymar’s back.

He’s pretty sure that Neymar isn’t in a relationship from what he’s seen of Neymar’s interactions, but he also doesn’t want Neymar to do this while drunk. It feels like he’s taking advantage. He doesn’t even know if Neymar likes men, although to be fair, he wasn’t exactly complaining to Leo earlier when he started rutting against him. Leo squeezes his eyes shut when he thinks of that, willing that feeling away. Neymar’s legs are tangled against Leo’s, and the last thing Leo needs is to get hard while Neymar’s falling asleep shirtless pressed right against his crotch.

Neymar doesn’t seem to get this message because he shifts his hips a little as he tries to somehow snuggle even closer to Leo, wrapping his arms around him. Leo cringes a little, feeling the wonderful rub of friction against his sweatpants and trying to surreptitiously move away from it even as his mind is willing him to just edge a little closer so that he can just press right against Neymar’s thigh. Thankfully, with the lights off, he can only see the shadow of Neymar’s face and he’s pretty sure Neymar can’t see his or he might be expecting something. “You’re so nice to me,” Neymar murmurs, blinking softly as he grows sleepy.

Leo runs a hand through Neymar’s hair (the hat had fallen off around the couch thanks to all of Neymar’s antics), mussing it up slightly.

“You’re so nice. You’re really amazing you know,” Neymar murmurs, yawning now. “I thought you were so cool when I saw you last year --- your pieces ---- in the ex--” he’s cut off by another yawn. “exhibition. It was soooo cool --and like, I wanted to get to know you but I never thought I’d ever get to talk to you though because you were a year above me and you were like, everyone said you never talk to people.” I thought you were amazing and you are.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as Leo tries to process that long, rambly statement.

Leo’s thankfully saved from having to somehow respond to this because Neymar’s eyes finally close and within a minute, his breaths have evened out and Leo knows he’s fallen asleep.

He waits for awhile before even attempting to untangle himself. When he does a few test shifts and Neymar seems to be sleeping like the dead, he carefully slides out, gently prying Neymar’s hands off of him. The cold autumn air hits him now that he’s no longer surrounded by Neymar’s body heat.

The canvas and oil paints are still in the room right where he’s left them, and Leo pulls them quietly towards the bed towards the window where the street lights are bright enough for him to see what he’s doing and what the scene actually looks like.

Neymar doesn’t stir while Leo paints, so Leo is lulled into a sort of stupor by the silence. Neymar looks young when he sleeps, because his eyebrows don’t furrow like they do when Neymar’s awake and trying to look fierce and his long eyelashes barely brush against his skin as his chest rises and falls. The blankets are tangled around his waist, covering half of his shirtless torso.

The thing is, Neymar sleeps like the dead. Even as Leo moves quickly into working on Neymar’s face, Neymar doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, doesn’t roll over and clutch a pillow. Leo’s thankful because while his memory is pretty good, he doesn’t think his tired mind is functioning at a level fitting for that kind of artistic test.

The moon rises high in the sky and is starting to fall by the time Leo starts to tire. For awhile, he’s filled with the kind of buzzing energy that insomnia and art bring him, but eventually, maybe around four or five in the morning --  his hand starts moving slower and he’s blinking hard to stay awake.

The basis of the painting is pretty much done anyways, he’s just missing details of the surroundings, touch-ups he can fix later. He’s too lazy to scrape the oil paints clean off his palette, so he just covers it in wax paper temporarily, tossing his brushes into the water container.

For a moment, he just stands there, debating whether or not he should sleep. He doesn’t want to get back into bed with Neymar, because he doesn’t know when they’ll wake up -- or if Cesc and Geri will ever get back (their idea of partying often involves going home with a girl or Shakira on Geri’s part and coming back mid-day the next morning, but Leo can never be too sure really), and he doesn’t want to give them the wrong idea about what exactly is going on.

He figures the best bet is to just fall into Cesc’s bed. It’s nearby enough that if Neymar wakes up, Leo can explain what happened or be nearby enough that no panicking will ensue, and Leo thinks it’s the best solution in case Geri or Cesc come back also. Plus he’s super tired, and he doesn’t really want to think anymore.

So he collapses onto Cesc’s bed, and is out like a light as his strung out mind finally rests.

The next thing he feels is someone prodding his stomach. “Leooooo.”

He doesn’t move.

“Leooooo,” the voice persists, and now it feels like there’s more than one hand prodding him.

“Go away,” he mumbles, hoping that if he doesn’t open his eyes, the annoyance will go away and he can go back into sleep. Sleep feels so amazing. Especially when his eyelids feel so heavy.

Someone opens the curtains though, which Leo can feel because the sunlight is suddenly streaming in and his eyes can sense it even with his eyes closed. He shrinks away, pulling on the bedspread, hoping to find a blanket to cover his head with.

“Leo get up! Why did you fall asleep in my bed,” the voice says, prodding his cheek now.

Leo blinks his eyes open blearily as last nights memories return to him. He sits up, and almost hits his face against someone else’s because of how sudden his movement is.

“Whoa, dude--”

“I --” Leo looks over at his bed, but there’s no one there. The sheets are all neat and folded, like they haven’t been slept in at all -- and Leo’s bed is never neat and folded. He furrows his brow in confusion. Did he just dream that Neymar had come over?

The thing is, Leo realizes as he looks around, he’s definitely in Cesc’s bed. Cesc and Geri are standing by the bed surrounding him, looking tired with dark circles under their eyes, but definitely amused.

“I-- was painting and I fell asleep here,” Leo says, which is true.

“Mhmmm who made your bed?” Cesc says, nodding over to Leo’s never folded sheets, because for some reason he’s chosen today to be Sherlock Holmes.

Geri leaves Leo’s, or rather Cesc’s, beside and strolls over to Leo’s painting. Leo wonders if this is some sort of rehearsed act that was planned before he’d woken up because the two of them are smirking like crazy. “And whoooo might this be?” he says, surveying the canvas that Leo had left out to dry.

Cesc practically skips over to Geri, looking far to cheerful for a person that is definitely hungover. “Hmmm looks a lot like your little muse. Sleeping. In your bed. Shirtless.”

And it’s definitely rehearsed because the two of them simultaneously turn to Leo and grin freakishly at him. “I hate you guys,” Leo mumbles, lying back down on Cesc’s bed because it’s comfortable and now that he’s awake and Neymar isn’t there he wants to get away from the nutty mind-twins and their annoying ability to not be properly hungover. “Shouldn’t you guys be like tired or something?”

“Dude it’s like noon.”

“That’s so early.”

“So did you sleep with him,” Geri says, breaking up Cesc and Leo’s very mature conversation of sticking out each other’s tongues at one another.

Leo recoils. “No!”

Geri and Cesc’s eyebrows rise together. “You sure?” Cesc asks skeptically.

“I was not drunk last night so I am completely sure,” Leo says, rubbing his eyes as he looks away from the two of them. “He came over drunk after the gala and fell asleep here so I had nothing to do and I painted him.”

“How’d he fall asleep in your bed though?” Geri asks. “And where’s he now?”

“I don’t know he probably left for class,” Leo replies, hoping Neymar hasn’t left feeling weird about this whole situation. He should probably text Neymar and talk to him about this. Or maybe just not address it, maybe that’s what people do normally, Leo isn’t really sure. Whenever Cesc and Geri come home drunk, Leo just tucks them in, but he doesn’t know if other people do things differently. “Also he fell asleep and I didn’t want him on the couch so I just brought him over to the bed.”

Then Leo buries his head under Cesc’s pillow, and if the two of them say anything in response to that, Leo doesn’t want to hear.

It is unfortunately, probably a decent time for him to get up now, seeing as he should finish the painting while the memory is still fresh and he still has to touch-up a painting from last week. When he drags his feet over to his own bed to switch into fresh clothes, he reaches over for his phone. There’s a missed text from Neymar on it -- it’s so classic, a long ramble sent in multiple text messages as though Neymar just presses enter every time that he stops to think.

_Hey sorry I just left like that_

_I had a meeting with my advisor at 10 but u looked supa tired_

_so I didn’t wanna wake u up. Thank u for letting me sleep in ur bed :)_

_sorry 4 anything embarrassing that i might have said..._

_i promise it was just drunk me_

_i’ll make it up to u!_

_lunch sometime?_

Leo’s mouth twitches a little when he responds. _Okay, you’re paying._

Leo thinks that that’s the end of that, since Neymar’s acting like it was not that big of a deal and Leo doesn’t think it is a big deal at all -- except then it becomes a big deal somehow. At first it feels completely ridiculous, because it happens the afternoon after Neymar sleeps over when Leo is touching up the painting of Neymar sleeping and as his hand scrapes gently against the canvas his mind suddenly flashes to that feeling of Neymar wrapped around him, rubbing against him -- and he’s half-hard before he even realizes it.

He brushes that off to the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid in ages and that the experience was so recent, but then a few days later, when he’s just touching up a few details on the first painting he did of Neymar in the studio now that it’s finally dried properly -- Leo’s thinking about the feeling of Neymar’s soft skin and the brush of Neymar’s lips against his his neck, and his cheeks heat up.

In fact, in the next three days, it happens four more times as he goes through the paintings retouching them -- the last time to the point that Leo literally has to get himself off in the bathroom outside of the studio before he can go back and finish off the painting. It’s literally ridiculous and slightly embarrassing really, because he has no idea why his mind and body keep reacting like this. He’s had experiences far more R-rated than cuddling with a half-naked drunken Neymar, but none of them have ever made him blush when he thinks about them while doing art. He feels like he’s a thirteen year old again who cannot bear to handle physical touching or something.

For most of the week, Leo just pushes off the lunch with Neymar and just holes himself up in the studio -- claiming to be busy trying to finish the paintings (which he is actually doing, but he thinks privately to himself that if he’s like a teenager who can’t control himself when painting Neymar, what’s he going to do if he actually sees him and experiences all his tactile hugging).

It’s not that hard to avoid him after all, since Neymar isn’t in any of his classes and shutting himself in the studio is effective in never seeing anybody. Geri looks a little concerned when he comes back to the room in the morning one day because he’s fallen asleep in the studio.

He only acquiesces to having lunch with Neymar when he’s finally out of excuses, he’s done with the four paintings that he’s been done of Neymar, and also Neymar sends him a text one night that’s sort of pitiful that says: _r u mad at me? :(_

Leo texts back reassuring him that he’s really just busy and not mad at Neymar, and of course, he lets Neymar make him promise that they’ll get coffee the next morning.

***

The result of getting coffee with Neymar is that Leo realizes three things.

1\. He had missed Neymar’s fond hugs and constant need for human touch after having him around for so long. Neymar almost spills his latte telling him a story about how his baby cousin Davi Lucca had said his name the other day -- the story’s not that interesting but Leo finds himself watching Neymar’s animated facial expressions, intrigued. (He’d even missed Neymar’s rambling and his habit of constantly taking photos of Leo at random moments.)

2\. The imagination and reaction thing that happens when he’s painting is infinitely worse when Neymar is constantly touching him and hugging him in that he keeps thinking about what it’d be like to just be in bed with a half-naked Neymar again.

3\. Geri is slightly smarter than Leo thinks he is.

The third realization doesn’t come until after the coffee when Leo walks back into the room to see Geri sitting in the dorm, relaxing as he uses a charcoal pencil to doodle something on the walls.

“Not working on your project?” Leo asks, taking off his scarf and jacket and throwing them haphazardly on the couch.

“Nahh,” Geri hums, turning a little so that Leo can see what looks like a giant caricature of Real Madrid’s Mourinho with a spear through his head. “How was Neymar?”

“Fine,” Leo says bemusedly, going over to the kitchen to get a glass of water. The coffee had done nothing to make him less thirsty.

“You’ve been hanging out with him a lot,” Geri says conversationally, now shading in the spear handle carefully.

“I kind of have to -- since he’s my project model.”

“Were you painting him while getting coffee?” Geri asks.

Leo doesn’t respond to that.

Geri seems to take this as a good reason to continue, being the talkative know-it-all that he is. “You were with him like every day this last month, don’t think Cesc hasn’t noticed either -- just because he’s finally started getting together with Daniella...Except you weren’t hanging out with Neymar for the last week after he slept over -- trouble?”

“It’s none of your business really,” Leo says tightly, gripping his glass tightly as he finishes the water.

Geri turns around finally, dropping the charcoal pencil carelessly on the floor in a way that makes Leo think that the charcoal in the pencil is definitely broken now and sharpening it is going to be a pain in the ass. “Look Leo,” he says, and he looks serious for a second, which makes Leo pay attention. “I’m pretty sure Neymar was in my class last year for some seminar on personality depiction that’s why he looked familiar. If I’m right and that was him, he was like -- your biggest fucking fan, but he’s also nice and I’m pretty sure he likes you. So if you like him, don’t let your issues -- with well, with David, don’t let it hold you back you know? I know it sucked a lot, but you have to move on from it.”

Leo doesn’t look back at Geri’s big blue eyes, because he knows that Geri means well but the last thing he ever wants to be reminded of is anything to do with David and Neymar being mentioned in the same sentence. “I -- he’s different --” His eyes flit around the room, searching for something to focus on.

Geri doesn’t say anything for once.

“I don’t want to lead him on though. I just -- I don’t know what I want,” Leo finally says.

Geri leans back against the wall, just next to the caricature of Mourinho. “Look do you like him?”

“I don’t --” Leo frowns. “I don’t know.”

Geri raises his eyebrows skeptically. “Why’d you pick him then?”

“You thought I picked him because I liked him?”

Geri frowns at Leo’s disbelieving tone and he sounds a bit defensive when he responds. “Hey what were Cesc and I supposed to think -- he’s pretty hot and you picked some random kid that you never knew as your subject for your senior portfolio. That’s a fucking big deal man -- we just accepted it but like, we had questions man. We had to assume some shit.”

“I--” Leo stops himself from saying they should stop assuming stuff because he knows that Geri and Cesc mean well even if they’re occasionally misguided. “Sorry I didn’t explain anything,” he finally says.

“Well you can make it up to us by explaining now,” Geri says, crossing his long legs easily, sounding relaxed.

Leo stares at him for a moment, but Geri stares right back and he raises his eyebrows like he’s waiting for Leo to speak (since he knows that Leo’s going to cave and tell him eventually. Since first year, Leo’s had this tendency to keep things to himself until Geri pries it out of him.) “I had a block this year,” Leo finally admits, taking a seat on a chair next to the sink. “At the beginning. You guys knew I did, remember when I couldn’t come up with a topic for the senior portfolio? I couldn’t even like paint. Or draw. It was so hard to do anything and be motivated about it. Without Pep around or-,” The rest of the statement is left unspoken, but now that Geri’s acknowledged it, Leo doesn’t really know what to think about if it’s part of the reason that he had trouble painting at the beginning of this year.

He runs a hand through his hair and just keeps going. “So I dunno, I was in Dani’s class since Xavi rec-ed it, and Neymar was so easy to draw -- it was so easy, so I figured that I’d just like, try and do him as my project. Well not do him. Like paint him as the focus but now like, I don’t know.”

“But now--?” Geri breaks in after leering a little at Leo’s possibly Freudian slip, because he’s got a one track mind like that.

“Well it’s weird,” Leo says uncomfortably, driving on and hoping that Geri doesn. “I can’t paint him off of references like I usually do. It’s like the block comes back and I can’t even lift a paintbrush without like wanting to hit my head against a wall. So I have to paint him in person, so I have to spend like a lot of time with him in order to paint him. It’s shitty.”

“You don’t want to spend time with him?”

“Well--” Leo mumbles. “No I do but like --” He cuts himself off and just stops there. He probably hasn’t spoken more than a few sentences, but it feels like he’s given an inner monologue on all of his inner emotions in the last few minutes.

Geri does take sympathy on them because he doesn’t pry, and the two of them sit like that in silence for a few moments while Leo just stews in thought. When Geri does speak, his voice his softer. “I know what it feels like to have a block you know. Remember second year?”

Leo nods.

“I couldn’t even like draw a circle properly without having an existential crisis remember? Ahh, Pep got so mad at me. Well, the block went away when I met Shakira but it wasn’t like, it went away in a day after she showed up in my life. It was a process. Then one day I woke up and Shakira was there and the block wasn’t anymore.”

Leo isn’t quite sure if Geri is saying what Leo thinks he’s saying so he eyes him warily. “So what you’re saying is?” he says because if Geri’s actually implying something he’s pretty sure this is the kind of subtlety that Leo didn’t think Geri had in him.

“So much for artistic implication,” Geri grumbles before grinning toothily at him. “Just sleep with him you idiot. It’ll help.” He gets up from next to the wall, grabbing an apple and mussing up Leo’s hair before Leo can even react.

“What if I don’t want to?” Leo protests.

“I’ve known you for four years Leo, I’m pretty sure I know when you want someone,” Geri says airily before taking a bite into the apple and making a face when it’s mushy. He finishes most of it in two bites anyways and tosses the rest in the trash carelessly.

“You don’t even know if he wants it.”

The look of general disdain that Geri gives him in response to that is almost enough to make Leo smile.

“Dude as your friend, I’m saying just sleep with him so you can have a great set of pieces and bring it to the Madrid senior critique and blow everyone away. I’m sick my grandfather complaining about how Mourinho is talking smugly to every critic and museum employee about how great Cris’s senior portfolio is. We’re better than Madrid and you’re better than everyone on this fucking planet, so please fuck Neymar so we can all get a work of art that’s worth more than my entire existence to rub in Mou’s face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsk tsk Leo hasn't been quite the reliable narrator -- leaving us hanging when it comes to David. Sorry it took so long to update this guys...I'd love to be like oh I was super busy doing things so I didn't have time to write but in truth with this international break and end of summer laziness-- I got some writer's block ironically (so maybe my depictions of Leo's artist block will be even more painfully realistic now haha). On the other hand, maybe Leo's on the way to leaving that block behind ;) if Geri has anything to say about it haha. Anyways, I seem to have escaped the block -- so another chapter will be coming your way within a few days time. Thank you guys so much for your reviews and kudos! Love you lots, I will get around to responding to all of them.
> 
> P.S. A Madrid critique is coming so maybe a few Real Madrid characters will be showing up...which ones do you guys want featured?

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing was inspired by a tag that un_petit_peu_de_moi posted on tumblr (and now I just really want an AU where Leo is a painter and draw him and then fuck him), so credit to her for the idea!


End file.
